Beatrice has come back to school. She is thinner. Whiter. Short hair, with its red color more opaque and subdued. Her eyes are still green but almost hidden. I would like to cross her path and tell her I am here, that I donated my blood to her, that I’m very happy to see her, but then I understand that it’s better to keep quiet. I limit myself to a smile when I see her during the break. She looks at me for a second as if she recognizes me, and she smiles back. Her smile is not the red smile of before but a whiter one. She is the heart of my dream. My dream is red, and I must turn that white back to the purplish-red I saw gushing from my arm. I don’t have any more doubts. In that smile, there is the meaning of all that I am seeking.
I won’t let you go. I won’t let that white tumor take you away. I would gladly put myself in your place. I won’t let it happen, because you are needed on this Earth much more than me. I wish you knew this. For this reason, I will write you a letter to tell you that I am here for you, and if you need anything, you can ask it of me at any time. Today, I am returning home and writing the letter. It must be the most beautiful and reddest thing I’ve ever done in my life. It must be perfect.
It’s strange how dreams give you a kick-start, like a blood transfusion. As if the blood of a superhero has entered your veins.